The Nuclear Bunker

by Rod Jones Artist

New York, Upper East Side. I suspect you don’t live there, but then again, maybe you do. It’s a very affluent neighborhood. On the 35th floor of one of the most ritzy buildings resides Sheldon and his wife Fran. Common sense and discreteness does not allow me to tell you their last name and you will soon discover why.

Fran was looking out one of their floor-to-ceiling windows. The curtains were drawn back and tied with ornate gold and burgundy tassels. Those were the decor colors that were prominently repeated throughout their very opulent apartment. The day was sunless and Fran was feeling bland and depressed at the same time. Mostly because the view toward Central Park was obscured by another building. She turned to Sheldon and in her usual complaining tone proceeded to tell him, “Why did we not get an apartment that had a great view of Central Park?” Sheldon, who was reading a book on economics, was in no mood to answer that question for the 15th hundredth time. “Fran, I told you an apartment with that view was more than we needed to spend.” Not truly satisfied with the answer she heard so many times Fran decided to go off in another direction. “I am concerned that something awful is going to happen to the city. You read about it and hear about it in the news. I have an idea and we need to do this ASAP.” Again Sheldon put down his book, looked up at Fran and…